


the trials and tribulations of being ilsa faust

by remy (iamremy)



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, First Meetings, Ilsa dealing with everything she's been through, M/M, Post-Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Sort Of, mild spoilers for Fallout, or well... until she meets Jane lmao, unrequited Ilsa Faust/Ethan Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 18:52:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: It's not that Ilsa'sembarrassed. Nothing like that. She's a big girl, she can handle rejection. She's dealt with far worse.But oh God, it's so difficult to look Ethan Hunt in the eyes right after she's caught him making out with his partner. She considers bearing a grudge for the rest of her natural life, if only for how silly it all made her feel, but then he introduces her to Jane Carter, and - well.Jane Carter is really fuckinghot.





	the trials and tribulations of being ilsa faust

**Author's Note:**

> ever since i've seen fallout, my love for idiot superspies has been renewed, and i can't stop writing about them. i've got so many ideas in my head, holy SHIT, if i sat down to write them all i'd never fucking finish.
> 
> this one combines a few of my favorite ideas and tropes - ethan/will, jane being into girls, ilsa being into girls, post-fallout fic, and ilsa's general awesomeness.
> 
> to quote the amazing [shin](http://kuroshinjithings.tumblr.com/) \- SPIES ARE BIS.

When Ethan calls her, around a month after the whole nuclear fiasco in Kashmir, Ilsa seriously considers not picking up the phone. In fact, she also considers just breaking it into pieces with a sledgehammer, then torching the remains, and throwing whatever's left in a Siberian lake, but that's the point when her monkey brain shuts off and she realizes it's probably an overreaction.

She watches the phone ring for a few seconds, and then sighs to herself. As if there's any universe in which she  _won't_ pick up the phone when Ethan Fucking Hunt is the one calling.

"Hi," she says when she picks up. "How did you get this number?"

He laughs at that, and she takes a moment to scowl at how stupidly good it sounds. "Hi," he replies. "Let's just say I have my ways. How are you doing?"

"Fine," she lies. "You?"

"Good," he replies.

She hates that he sounds like he means it, and then hates that she's petty enough to think that. God, this is already so messy. She really shouldn't have picked up.

"I was thinking," he says, and she forces herself to pay attention to the conversation. "You're in the States, right?"

"I might be," she says. She is. He knows it, too, the bastard.

"Right," he says. "Want to meet up? Nothing too fancy, just coffee or something."

Her heart stops. "What-"

"It's just been a while since we've all sat down to just talk, you know?" he says. "Benji misses you. And Jane says she wants to meet you too."

Her heart restarts; she resists the urge to sigh. Of course it's not going to be just the two of them. It usually never is.

"I'm not sure," she tells him. She doesn't have anything to do, but that doesn't mean she's going to go meet him and torture herself by watching him be familiar and intimate and happy with people who aren't her. "I'm a bit busy."

"Right," he says again with a chuckle, and she considers saying yes just to go kill him. He sounds like he can tell she's lying, and she hates him for being able to read her that easily when she can't return the favor. "Well, if you find yourself free after lunch next Sunday, we'll be at-"

She closes her eyes and wills herself to be patient as he begins rattling off the address.

"I might not come," she tells him when he's done.

"I know," he says simply. "But try. I'd like to have you there." She feels a pang of masochistic happiness, and then he goes on and ruins it with, "I haven't even properly introduced you to Will!"

Yeah, that's deliberate. She has no wish to really get to know William Brandt, and she doesn't understand why Ethan thinks the two of them are going to be holding hands and singing kumbaya when they finally do sit down together. Maybe he's just fucking dense, she thinks with a glower. But that's not true, and she knows it. He's either just oblivious, or doesn't care.

"Ethan," she sighs.

"I will completely understand if you can't come," he tells her solemnly. He has the gall to sound put off too, like he'll genuinely miss her if she doesn't show.

"I'll think about it," she concedes. "I'll let you know."

"Great," he says. "The number's the same."

"Right."

This is the logical point at which to say her goodbyes and cut the call, but she can't make herself do it. She  _knows_ , God, she knows he's not available, she knows that she's the only one that feels - whatever  _this_ is - and that he's never going to see her the way she wants him to. And despite all that, she can't help but cling to whatever's left for her to have, even if it's just a phone call and an offer of coffee with a bunch of people she really doesn't care much about.

Well, except Benji, but it's because he's  _Benji_.

Luther's okay too, she figures. And she doesn't know Jane.

It's just William Brandt that's the problem. Even in her head, she refuses to think of him as Will, the way Ethan refers to him, because it's just too familiar, too friendly. It feels like an acknowledgment of what he has, what she wants and will never get.

"Okay," Ethan says, clearly not fazed by the long silence. "I've got to go now. I'll see you later, Ilsa."

She hasn't even confirmed, God, he's so confident she'll show. She almost says no just to spite him, but in the end she just goes with, "Right, okay. Bye, Ethan."

"Bye, Ilsa."

She stares at her phone for a few moments after the call is over, and reconsiders the violent disposal of it. Then she realizes she'd have to get a new one, and Ethan is a persistent little arsehole, and he'll probably find that number too and then call her to talk her into coming to coffee with him and his friends and his partner.

Just the thought makes her vaguely nauseous. 

* * *

The thing is, she reflects, later on that night as she lies in bed, that there are layers to this whole mess she's gotten herself into.

Ethan's not the beginning of it, not really. That dubious honor goes to Atlee and MI6, when they first made her go undercover with the Syndicate. Years and years of working her arse off, jumping through hoops that only got higher and higher, all those people she had to hurt or kill just so she wouldn't blow her cover - and it had never been enough for them. It was always "just one more job" until she'd realized they never meant for her to come home.

And Ethan had come at just the right time, trusting her despite her giving him no reason to do so, despite her actively hurting him when it was convenient for her. He'd trusted her, and he'd worked with her, and he'd helped her bring Lane down. To this day, seeing Lane in that box is the best feeling she's ever experienced, and she will never forget Ethan's role in it.

So it's natural, then, she supposes, for her to fall for him a little. His charm and looks and skill had definitely helped, as had the fact that he was a kindred soul. She hadn't failed to note how similar they were, right after they'd first met - both of them abandoned by organizations they'd trusted, used as mere pawns on a chessboard so large they couldn't see the borders. Both of them exhausted by having to continuously prove themselves to everyone around them.

She can't help but wonder if he'd ever have come with her, when she'd asked. Had he been with Brandt, even then? She's never asked; she doesn't want to know.

It would make sense, though, she thinks glumly. The hesitation on his face, the wistfulness - she thinks he might have come, if it hadn't been for Will. He'd had the look of a man who'd considered running away multiple times and just never gone through with it for whatever reason.

When she'd driven away from him in the BMW, she hadn't even looked in the rearview mirror. She'd told herself it was over, she was free now, and so what if Ethan wasn't there with her?

It was just a crush, back then.

It got worse when MI6 refused to trust her again, when they made her prove her loyalty over and over again. Freedom had been an illusion, and she'd been dumb enough to fall for it. She'd wondered, in the back of her mind, if it was like this for Ethan too. If he'd managed to get what he wanted, in the end.

Brandt's face sticks in her mind, still. It looks like he had.

She hadn't known it though, and then she'd seen him again, chasing Lane once more, and for a while it had been just like old times. Her, and Ethan, and Luther and Benji, racing off to get Lane, to stop yet another maniac, to save the world one more time. She'd lost herself in the thrill of the chase, in the feeling of knowing her freedom was just a little more out of reach, and she hadn't hesitated. She could compromise on having Ethan, but not her freedom. She'd just hoped it wasn't a choice she'd actually have to make.

Julia was a... complication. It was clear on Ethan's face that he still loved her, still had a soft spot for her. But she was married now, and in any case, he would never have been able to have her again. He'd endangered her once; she knew him, she knew he'd rather hack off a limb than do it again. So she hadn't said anything, didn't react to the lingering looks between them, to the way Julia seemed to gel so effortlessly with Benji and Luther, a stark reminder that she was a part of Ethan's life that Ilsa was too late for. After all, there had been no point in being jealous, not when all they were doing was looking out for each other, nothing but the remnants of a marriage between them, and a fond, nostalgic love.

A love that had in no way threatened her.

And then they'd saved the world, and she'd gotten her freedom. This time it even looked real. She remembers thinking to herself how glad she had been that she hadn't had to make a choice between herself and Ethan. It's ironic, she thinks - it was never a choice to begin with. Ethan was never an option.

She just wishes that she'd found out some other way.

Even now, thinking of it makes her flush, makes her angry - at Ethan, for not saying anything; at Brandt, for existing; at herself, even though it really was not her fault. But no one likes rejection, and it's always worse when it's so... She doesn't even have words. Awkward. Embarrassing. All good candidates, yet neither come close enough to describe how she really felt in the moment.

She remembers it extremely vividly, of course, as is the way it is with awful memories. If she focuses, she can even smell the ever-present antiseptic scent that's omnipresent in medical facilities anywhere in the world.

Ethan, lying in bed. Julia and her husband - she can't really recall his name - off packing somewhere, ready to leave Ethan's life once more. Luther and Benji, at Ethan's side as always, talking to him about something mundane, keeping him entertained until he's cleared to fly back home.

It was midday, and there had been sunlight coming in through the doorway, and she remembers the way it hit Ethan's face, made his skin glow bronze. She remembers looking at him, laughing about something, the sun glinting in his hair, and she remembers deciding this was it, she was finally going to tell him how she felt. She was going to put a name to whatever it was between them, and he'd smile at her, in that mysterious way of his, and she'd ask one more time if he wanted to come with her. This time he'd say yes.

It had sounded so easy in her head. Had felt it too, she thinks bitterly. Everything looked easy after you'd just saved the world. She blames the leftover adrenaline. She blames the high of knowing you've just done something incredible. She blames - God, she blames Ethan's face, for being so attractive.

And herself, for falling so easily.

She remembers smiling at him as she made her way to his bedside, and sat down. She remembers leaning in, and kissing his forehead, the way the room had gone quiet when she'd done it. She'd thought, at the time, that it was because it was unexpected. It was only later that she learned it was so much more than that.

Ethan had looked confused. He had looked at her, and he'd blinked like he was trying to process it, and she'd thought maybe he just needed a clearer sign. So she had put her hand on the side of his face, and she'd smiled once more, and then she'd leaned in-

"Ethan?"

His voice had caught them all off guard - she'd turned and seen him there, silhouetted in the doorway, looking confused. She remembers Ethan tensing. She remembers Benji grinning. She remembers the surprised expression on Luther's face.

"Will!" Benji had said, scrambling up to go greet him with a hug. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Brandt had replied, hugging him back. "You? All right?"

Benji had shrugged. "I will be," he had said. Prevarication, of course. She was there. She remembers. It's going to be a long time before he's all right.

"How come you're here?" Luther had asked.

"Had to come when I heard," Brandt had replied, and then he'd let go of Benji and taken a step towards Ethan's bed. "Ethan - are you - God, Ethan." He'd stopped, and she can recall, clear as day, the look of helplessness on his face. It had made something hurt inside her.

"Hey." Ethan's voice. So fucking soft. She'd have given anything to have him sound like that when he spoke to her. "Will," he'd said. The way he said the name... she knew, then, that she never had a chance. No one spoke a name like that if it didn't mean the whole world to them.

Brandt had given her an uncertain look, and she'd realized her hand was still on Ethan's body, flat against his chest. She'd withdrawn it; cliche, perhaps, but it  _had_ felt like touching Ethan just then would burn her. "Sorry," she'd said. To this day she doesn't know what she apologized for.

"It's okay." Ethan had sounded distracted; he only had eyes for Brandt. All she could do was get to her feet, numb from the inside out, and walk out under the guise of giving them some privacy.

She wishes she hadn't turned at the last moment; if she hadn't, she would not have seen them kiss, she would not have seen the way Ethan held on to Brandt like he was  _everything_. The way she'd hoped he could have touched her, someday.

Now, of course, lying here in bed in her fancy hotel room, it all seems so fucking silly. She should not have assumed. She should not have read too much into her interactions with Ethan. Man like that, of course he's spoken for, how could he not be? It's just that - when he spoke to her, she felt like she was the only person in the room. She felt like she meant something. And now, she thinks, it was probably because it was the first time anyone had sympathized with her, the first time she'd felt she wasn't all alone in an unforgiving world.

It's been weeks now, and she's finally out of the life, but even now, she's not over him. You don't just get over someone like Ethan. She never wants to see his face again, and at the same time she'd do just about anything to see him smile at her. She keeps finding herself caught between anger and nostalgia, between fury and sorrow, between wanting nothing but for him to be happy, and hating that he  _is_ happy but not with her.

And that doesn't even light a candle to the way she feels about Brandt.

Objectively, she knows he's a really good person. She's worked with him. Benji won't shut up about how epic and awesome he is, and even Luther seems fond of him in that grouchy, ornery way of his. And Ethan - Ethan looks at him like he hung the moon, like the whole world exists in Brandt's eyes, like-

God, is it possible to die of embarrassment? Because that's the primary emotion she's feeling right now. A blind person could see how Ethan felt about Brandt - and she hadn't been able to see it. Looking back, it's so obvious now, because it's not like Ethan's subtle. Just the opposite, in fact. She was just so caught up in her own feelings that she managed to delude herself into thinking they might be returned.

He's only ever had eyes for Brandt. That soft look on his face isn't for her. That smile is not hers to keep. The murmured words and gentle kisses are never going to be for her. She'll do well to remember it, because the alternative is wallowing in self-pity and being miserable, and that's just really fucking exhausting. She's got better things to do, like go live the rest of her life and hope she'll eventually get over Ethan Fucking Hunt.

She comes to a decision just then. She'll go, she'll have coffee with him and the people in his life, and then she'll never see him again. She'll endure Benji and Luther's pity, she'll endure Brandt's presence, and Ethan's smile, just for a chance at closure. They'll talk, and she'll find a way to say her goodbyes without him knowing, and then she'll leave and she will never ever see him again. It's all she can do to give herself a chance to get over him.

* * *

The coffee shop is easy to find even though she's not familiar with the city at all. Ethan is really good at directions.

She's a bit early, but she's not the first to arrive - Benji and Luther are already there, and they both wave her over when they see her. Benji looks better than he has in ages, happier, and she's glad to see he's recovered well. Luther looks the same as always - stoic and composed, and some horrifyingly patterned hat on his head.

She leans in to hug them both before sitting. "How are you?" she asks.

"Good!" beams Benji. "Really good. And you? What have you been up to?"

"Can't tell you, I'm afraid," she replies, but she's smiling. He's just so earnest, she can't help but love him.

It's a beautiful day; the sky is blue, and cloudless, and there's a light breeze that she can feel dancing on her skin. Benji and Luther look relaxed, casual, sprawled in their chairs, and she forces herself to relax as well, to look the part of the content young woman out for coffee with her friends. No one's ordered just yet, waiting for everyone else to arrive, so she chooses to peruse the menu, seeing what's available.

She smells Ethan before she sees him, that scent of Tom Ford mixed with something uniquely Ethan, and she can't help but freeze in her chair. No one seems to notice - Benji and Luther stand to greet Ethan, and his voice is music to her ears, and she wishes she could just be over him already because it's just so tiring to notice him all the damn time.

And then she hears Brandt talk, and that, for some reason, breaks her out of her spell. She stands, gives Ethan a brilliant smile, and goes in for a hug. "You look good," she says, casual, deliberate.

"Thank you," he says. "I'm glad you made it."

She nods at him, and then turns to Brandt, because it'll be rude if she ignores him any longer. "Brandt," she says, keeping her tone neutral.

"Faust," he replies, just as neutral. There is no sign on his face that her familiarity with Ethan bothers him. She wonders if it's because he's good at hiding it, or he just doesn't care.

She wouldn't not care, she thinks, if she had a man like Ethan. She would be so jealous, all the time. She'd want him all to herself. Hell, she does even now, and he's not even  _hers_.

They sit. She doesn't miss that Brandt and Ethan are very close to each other, their elbows touching with every movement. She pretends not to see that Ethan hooks his ankle around Brandt's under the table the moment they're seated.

"Where's Jane?" Benji asks, looking around as if she'll just materialize out of nowhere.

"Spoke to her five minutes ago," Brandt answers. "She'll be here soon."

"Cool," says Benji. "Shall we order? I don't want to do it without Jane, but we've been sitting here a while, and we're getting weird looks from the staff now."

"I'm sure she won't mind," Ethan says, and waves a waiter over.

"Double espresso," says Luther.

"Green tea, please," Benji says. "I'm trying to phase caffeine out of my diet," he informs them all. "It makes the nightmares worse."

Brandt frowns at that, but before he can open his mouth, Ilsa says, "I'll have a macchiato, please. And the chocolate cake."

"Cappuccino for me," says Ethan, and then, "and a latte for Will."

Gross, thinks Ilsa. They're  _that_ kind of couple. Ordering for each other at restaurants and shit.

She waits till the waiter's gone, before asking, "So - all of you are off duty, currently?"

"Yep," Benji tells her, popping the p. "Ethan's still supposed to be resting, actually, and so am I. Luther's just lazy."

"Hey," protests Luther. "It's  _downtime_ , okay, I've  _earned_ it. Besides, I don't hear you complaining."

"That's because you let me win at video games," Benji says happily, "unlike Will, who is  _ruthless_."

"I play to win," Brandt says with a straight face. Somehow it feels like he's rubbing it in that he's got Ethan and she hasn't, and then she tells herself she's reading too much into an innocent, playful comment. And in any case, Ethan's a person, not a prize to be won.

"Jokes aside, yeah, I'm still on medical leave," Ethan tells her. "Something about not exerting myself too much." He grins. "As if I'd ever do that."

"I'm sure you'd never even think of it," Brandt says, and grins.

"Never," Ethan says.

Ilsa resists the urge to roll her eyes. They think they're so cute, with their bantering and jokes and playful nudges.

It must show on her face; Brandt gives her a questioning look, and she returns it with a polite smile. "And you?" she asks him. "No missions?"

His expression smoothens, though she notices the thoughtful furrow between his brows does not go away. "No," he replies in answer to her question. "I'm supposed to be playing nurse, making sure Ethan doesn't do anything stupid while he's grounded."

"He's very good at playing nurse," Ethan tells her seriously.

Brandt rolls his eyes. "Shut up, Ethan."

Ethan just grins. Ilsa honestly can't tell if he's just oblivious or fucking with her. She had made it  _very_ clear that she was into him, so it's not that he doesn't know. She really can't tell what he means by being so - so _in her face_ about it all, about Brandt and his relationship. Maybe he thinks she's over him and so it won't bother her. Or maybe he thinks that if he lays it on thick, she'll get the hint that he doesn't want her.

As if she's stupid and needs reminding, as if she didn't get the message loud and clear the first time.

God, coming here was a bad idea, she thinks. Her drink's not here yet - maybe she can fake a phone call or something, or find another excuse that will let her leave. Fuck closure and fuck trying to get over Ethan - she's not sure she can stand another second of acting like she can't see the way Ethan looks at Brandt, or the sad looks Benji is throwing in her direction, or even Luther's feigned nonchalance.

Is she really that obvious? Is that what it's come down to? She's an ex-spy with a formidable skillset, with dozens of confirmed kills and hundreds of successful missions under her belt. And yet she can't help but feel reduced to a schoolgirl, hopelessly crushing over someone she can't have, while everyone around her watches her moon over him with pitying looks on their faces. It's pathetic, is what it is, and not for the first time she hates herself for having fallen so low.

And to think, a couple months ago, she'd thought she had it all.

That's it, she thinks. Time to leave. She'll put thousands of miles between herself and Ethan, and she'll go drink herself stupid in a bar in a foreign country where she doesn't speak the language, and she'll let a random stranger take her home, and-

"Jane!" says Benji, sounding delighted beyond belief. "You're here!"

He stands to hug her, and then Ethan and Brandt are standing too, and even Luther is smiling and waving hello. In between all the group hugs and cheek kissing, Ilsa can't actually get a look at Jane Carter, not until the pleasantries are done with and Jane is taking a seat across from her.

"Ilsa, this is Jane Carter," Ethan tells her, smiling. "Jane - Ilsa Faust."

"I've heard  _so much_ about you," Jane says, and then she smiles, and - fuck. Ilsa's heart skips a beat, stomach swooping.

Forcing herself back together, she smiles back, and holds out her hand. "Same," she says. "I'm so glad to finally meet you."

Jane's hand is warm as she accepts the handshake. "So am I," she says. "So! Shall we order?"

As Benji takes the chance to tell her they already have, and Jane chooses to take up the menu, Ilsa decides to observe her. Jane is beautiful, the way she'd expect supermodels to be. She looks and walks and talks like she knows it, too. She looks like the kind of person who's had doors opened for them and chairs pulled out their whole life. She looks exactly like the kind of girls that intimidated Ilsa as a teenager - gorgeous and self-assured and filled to the brim with the kind of confidence that came from knowing that the world would bend over backward for you if you just asked.

Jane orders herself an Americano and some donuts, and then puts the menu down so she can smile at everyone else at the table. Her gaze zeroes in on Brandt, who's tapping away at his phone.

"Work?" she asks.

"Yeah," Brandt sighs. "It's been a fucking mess since Hunley died. I just told them not to bother me today, though, said I'm busy."

"Good," Jane says forcefully. "They overwork you, Will, I've always thought so. You deserve a break."

"I'm on one," Brandt says. "Ethan wanted to go rock-climbing. I told him to shut the fuck up and sit down."

"He's being dramatic," Ethan says, rolling his eyes fondly. "I'm not  _that_ injured."

"Yeah, he's totally fine," Benji says sarcastically. "Isn't he always?"

Jane laughs, the sound high and clear. "Of course," she teases, kohl-lined eyes shining with mirth. "Same old Ethan, huh?"

"He'll never change," Luther says, heaving an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. "He'll continue doing the same shit he always does, and giving the rest of us gray hair."

 _That_ , Ilsa can wholeheartedly agree with.

"Glad I got out of the field," Jane says with a laugh.

"You did?" Ilsa asks. "What are you doing now?"

Jane shrugs. "Well, nothing in particular. I've got enough money to keep me comfortable for the rest of my life. Maybe if I get  _too_ bored I'll find something to do, but for now I'm just... traveling. Seeing the world without the pressure of having to save it."

"I can relate," Ilsa tells her. "I'm sure Ethan's told you, but - I recently left field work, too. Well, all spy work, actually. Thought I'd see the world, find myself someplace nice to settle down where no one will ever come and tell me what to do."

Jane grins. "Amen to that," she says warmly.

She has got a really nice voice, Ilsa thinks absently. Honey-smooth and husky and velvet-lined. She sounds like she could easily seduce just about anyone into bed with her.

Ilsa finds herself thinking she might not be averse to that.

Her eyes fall on Jane's mouth, cherry-red lips and pearly smile, and then down the line of her throat, before resting on the jut of her collarbones, peeking out from behind the straps of her yellow sundress. She watches Jane's throat move as she speaks to Benji, and the way her collarbone shimmers in the sun with some kind of glittery highlight.

 _Careful_ , Ilsa tells herself. The last thing she needs right now is Ethan Hunt 2.0, female version.

"So, Ilsa, I've gotta ask," Jane says, and Ilsa forces herself to look at Jane's face, and her face only. "What was it like, working with these guys?"

"Oh,  _intense_ ," Ilsa replies, before she can stop herself. "You know how Ethan is."

"I do," laughs Jane. "But I asked about them all."

Oh shit, Ilsa's given herself away. God, she couldn't make it more obvious if she tattooed  **I <3 ETHAN HUNT** to the middle of her forehead.  _Get yourself together,_ she admonishes herself.  _You are going to leave soon and never see any of them again_ , says another voice in her head,  _so who cares what they think?_

"Honestly?" she says, hearing her own voice as if from really far away. "It was truly something else. Some of the most exciting experiences of my life. I _never_ want a repeat."

At that, Jane throws her head back and laughs, clearly amused, and, in a show of betrayal, Ilsa's eyes disregard her brain and fall down to Jane's chest. Her low-cut sundress is not fucking helping.

Ilsa wants to groan out loud, but she restrains herself. First Ethan, and now Jane. She's got to find a way to stop falling for people so damn easily.

She doesn't even know if Jane's single, but despite everything, she finds herself hoping she is.

Maybe she can ask Benji later, she thinks. If she stays that long. Not that anything will come of this, she thinks, with no small amount of frustration. She has no intention of staying, and Jane is not going to be tied down either. They've both got their paths set, and those lines are not going to cross.

The hypothetical stranger in the hypothetical foreign bar seems really enticing to Ilsa right now, since it's probably her only chance at getting laid. Fuck emotions, who needs them, but all this burning lust she's been feeling lately has got to go. She's fucking done with it.

The conversation moves to more mundane topics after that, leaving Ilsa free to sip her drink and look her fill. She observes the way they interact with each other, and she allows herself a moment of feeling lonely, like the outsider she is, before getting herself back together with the reminder that it doesn't matter anyway because she's not staying. That makes it a little easier - both to see Ethan with Brandt, and to look at Jane.

She really is something, Ilsa thinks. She can hold her own with these men, talking and laughing and joking, and she's clearly very close to all of them, with the way she occasionally throws her arm around Benji or leans in to touch Brandt casually, her fingers gentle on his bare arm. Ilsa can't help but think about the history the five of them share, the things they've been through that she'll never be privy to. The thought makes her sad. She wonders if she's ever going to have what they do, the companionship and comfort, the knowledge that someone's got your back no matter what.

In a fair world, Ilsa thinks, she would have been free a long time ago. Maybe by now she'd have found someone.

Or, in a world where Ilsa always gets what she wants, it would be her over there, under Ethan's arm, leaning into his side and laughing at whatever he's saying. It would be her cheek Ethan kisses, her skin he touches, her he takes home at night. But she's accepted long ago that she isn't going to get what she wants, not in this case, and to yearn for Ethan was to waste her own time and energy. He was never hers. He never will be. Maybe in some other universe, but not in this one.

In this one, Brandt got there first, and Ilsa can't even hate him properly for it. He's clearly good for Ethan, he makes him smile and laugh like she hasn't seen him do before, and despite herself, she finds that she's happy for Ethan. She can't not be, not when he looks like  _this_ , eyes sparkling, looking like Brandt was made to fit against the lines of his body.

Ethan isn't hers, and for the first time, she thinks that maybe it's okay.

Oh, she's not over him, not by a long shot. Maybe she never really will be. There's always going to be a part of her that loves Ethan Hunt, that has a soft spot for him no matter what. It hurts, but she wouldn't change it for the world. He's been there for her when no one else could be, and he's gotten her through the hardest times of her life. He's helped her get her freedom and her life back. For that, she's always going to owe him, and she's always going to love him.

She just hopes that one day she can look back on this and think of it all with fondness, instead of a pervading sense of aloneness and frustration, of regret and  _what-ifs._

* * *

Luther is the first to leave, some two hours later. He cites exhaustion and excuses himself, and promises to see them all later. Ilsa stands to shake his hand bye, and does her best not to make it look like she never intends on seeing him again.

That seems to get the ball rolling - twenty minutes later Benji gets up too. He hugs Jane once more, and then Ilsa, and extracts a few promises to keep in touch and to call him if she's ever in the States again. She goes along with it, and they both pretend that he doesn't look sad, like he doesn't know that he won't be hearing from her ever again.

So that leaves her with Jane, Ethan, and Brandt.

"I've got a flight in three days," she finds herself saying.

"Oh," says Ethan. "Where are you going?"

Ilsa gives him a crooked little smile. "Can't tell you."

Ethan returns her smile, and lets it go. "Fair enough," he concedes. "Best of luck, Ilsa. With whatever you've got planned."

"You've earned your freedom," Brandt adds. "Enjoy it. You deserve it."

He sounds sincere enough, and Ilsa is surprised to find that her smile is genuine. "Thank you," she says. "Really."

He nods. "You're welcome," he says.

They're spared from an awkward silence by Jane, who says, "Well, maybe I'll go somewhere too, in a while. Getting bored sitting on my ass over here."

"You've only been back for a week!" Brandt says. "And you want to leave already?"

"Well, yeah," Jane says. "There's nothing to  _do_. And before you suggest it, no, I don't want to come back to the IMF. I'm done with all of that now."

"Oh, don't I know how that feels," Ilsa says, and smiles at Jane.

Her heart skips a beat when Jane smiles back. It's almost exactly like how she feels when Ethan smiles at her, and shit, she needs to stop doing this to herself, she really does.

For one, Ethan is  _right here_ , and for another, Brandt is looking at her like he can tell exactly what she's thinking. Probably can, she thinks - if Ethan's description of his skills is anything to go by, he is a force to be reckoned with. Nothing skips his notice.

"Why'd  _you_ leave?" Jane asks.

"Because I'm not a person to them," Ilsa replies, a little fierce. "I was just a piece in their games, and I got tired of it. I wanted out. They don't care about me. Why should I care about them? After everything I've done for them, I deserve to have my life back."

Jane takes it all in, and then nods. "Yeah," is all she says. Ethan and Brandt, who know all this, say nothing.

"And you?" Ilsa asks.

"Me?" Jane shrugs. "Just couldn't do it anymore, I suppose. I lost my boyfriend, you know, on a mission, and it was all just downhill from there. Saved the world with these guys, which was great, but I just didn't really want to go on after that. Stayed as an instructor for a while, but I got tired of that too. I guess, like you, I just want my life back."

"And you two?" Ilsa asks Ethan and Brandt.

"I'm there as long as I'm needed," Brandt says. The way he looks at Ethan makes it clear what he means; he'll be there as long as Ethan is.

"I'll be there until I can't be anymore," Ethan says. "Or until I finally get old. Whatever comes first."

Ilsa grins a little at that. "I hope that when you finally leave, it's because you get old," she says.

"Me too," Brandt says. "Though I don't know what Ethan defines as old."

"I'll be old when I'm in diapers again, and not a day before," Ethan declares.

"Not a mental image I ever wanted, but now I have it and can't get rid of it, so thanks," Jane says with a groan.

"Same," Brandt says. "I love you, but just.  _No_."

That should hurt, Ilsa thinks, the casual way he just says the words. To her surprise, it doesn't.

Brandt has every right to say those words. Ethan has every right to hear them, even if they aren't coming from her.

She supposes she'll just have to find someone else to say them to. Maybe she'll do it just to prove to herself that she can fall in love again, that this ill-fated  _thing_ with Ethan isn't the end of her world.

It's just the beginning, she thinks.

And now that Jane's just mentioned that she's single...

"I know a good place in Papua New Guinea," Ilsa says casually. "If you're interested."

To anyone else, it might sound like she's asking Jane out. She's actually not even completely sure that she  _isn't_.

"Really?" Jane looks interested. "Tell me more."

"I'd love to," Ilsa says. "Why don't I just text you the details, it'll be easier."

She ignores the knowing look on Brandt's face as she takes Jane's proffered mobile phone and programs her number in. She also pretends she can't see the calculating gaze Ethan has on her and Jane.

"Cool," says Jane once she has her phone back. "I'll call you."

Ilsa smiles. "I'll look forward to it."

* * *

She knows what Ethan saw. She refused to tell him where she's going, but she had no qualms giving her mobile number to Jane. The number that Ethan had to find out via other means instead of her just telling him.

She knows the message it sends. She just hopes Ethan receives it.

 _I love you, and I'm letting go of you_.  _I've got my own life to live now. I hope you enjoy yours._

At the very least, she's sure Brandt understood. He can explain to Ethan, if Ethan doesn't get it. 

* * *

There is no flight in three days. She's lied. She knows Brandt figured that out too, and she wonders if he'll tell Ethan. She wonders if it matters.

She realizes it doesn't. She's not going to see them again, and they know it, and she knows they'll respect her choice and keep their distance as well.

Except maybe Jane, but Ilsa doesn't mind Jane not staying away. In fact, she thinks, she would prefer Jane doesn't.

* * *

Jane calls her two days later. They make plans for lunch, under the pretense of discussing travel arrangements.

"You know," Jane says, interrupting Ilsa halfway through a conversation about hotels, "I think it would just be easier if you came, too. You obviously know your way around, and I've never been."

"I have-"

"Oh, I know there's no flight," says Jane airily. "You just said it so they wouldn't bother you again. Seriously, Ilsa, just come with me." She grins, eyes sparkling. "It'll be fun."

Ilsa doesn't even have to think about it for too long. "All right," she acquiesces. "I'll come."

Jane's face lights up. "Excellent," she says.

Ilsa drops her off later, on her bike. Jane's arms are tight around her waist, her chest pressed into Ilsa's back, and Ilsa would ride this bike forever if she could. As it is, it takes all of her willpower to brake when they reach Jane's apartment, and then some more to let Jane get off.

Jane looks like she's just as miffed about it as Ilsa is, which makes Ilsa feel a lot better about her sudden change of mind. "So I'll see you soon, then," Jane says. Her gaze is dark, intense, as she looks at Ilsa, who's got one foot braced against the ground, bike idling.

"Yes," says Ilsa. "I'll book plane tickets and let you know."

"I'm really excited, you know," Jane says. "I think it's going to be amazing."

There's a lump in Ilsa's throat. "Yes," is all she manages to say. "I'm sure it will be."

Jane grins, and takes a step forward. "We don't need to tell the boys anything," she says, and there is a hint of playfulness to her voice. It goes straight to Ilsa's core.

"None of their business anyway," she replies, and lifts her helmet's visor so that Jane can see her grin.

Jane leans in and kisses her.

For a moment Ilsa is frozen as her brain tries to process this new development, and then she's opening her mouth, letting Jane in, one hand going up to rest on Jane's waist. Jane's enthusiasm increases when Ilsa reciprocates, and they don't stop until they can't breath, chests heaving, lips swollen.

Ilsa looks at Jane,  _really_ looks at her, at her pupils blown wide, her wet lips. "Well," is all she says.

Jane laughs. "I'm guessing you liked it."

Ilsa nods, not trusting herself to speak.

"Do you want to come upstairs?" Jane asks. "You know. To book tickets and hotels."

Oh, is that what they're calling it, then?

Ilsa doesn't even have time to think about it - one look at Jane's face, and she makes her decision. "Let me park my bike," she says.

Jane smiles wide, her eyes holding a promise. She leans in and kisses Ilsa one more time. "Do whatever you need to," she says.

It sounds like everything Ilsa has ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts, feedback? i'd love to hear what you guys think!
> 
> remy x


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